Hearing Poem by delilah contrapunctal.... yes, that's how I intended to spell it.........

a voice of reason....squirrely...gnawing away
at the nuts..
bolts
and screws
in the reliquary.....
farming
out tasks
of
demolition to the hands of time-wearied dryads....
mounted on the thinnest
of
checkered picnic-cloths...like
the one that belonged to an apple-buttered bruin...
one who said it with a slap...dash it all....
some of the sear-up has oozed into the cracked pot
on the seamlier feathered beds....
.... they get up early...
and earlier....at first crow....now...
....when do they sleep? ...perhaps to dream....to mollify...
perhaps to batten down the hatchling's brine...
.....throw an inconsequential shoofly into the rain barrel......
where are their dust motels? ....milky-lit..
.with
that one bulb..suspended from a velvetine cordiality...
....they've.put in a few quarters...drawn the blinds...ducked... jiggled for
a second..best at that....so
in comes an electoral morning...
dew drops
and
the way home is obscured.....in a rococo frame....